Painted Canvas
by xDefiancex
Summary: Seven years ago, something happened in a dark dungeon chamber - something Hermione Granger cannot remember. On that same day she lost memory of her past. All she knows is that Draco Malfoy was her savior. But things are never what they seem...


**Title:** Painted Canvas

**Author:** xDefiancex

**Pairing:** Draco/Hermione

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, so don't sue me.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I'm well aware that this plot has been done many times over. Actually it came to my mind about a year and a half ago while I was working on my other stories (under a different pen name, which haven't been updated in more than a year). I was inspired by this awesome fic Crimson Jess by Gravidy, and if you guys haven't read it, you ought to. I'm sorry my story is badly written. I get all these elaborate ideas, and they sound eloquent in my mind, but I have trouble penning them because I'm a terrible writer and it's hard for me to express my thoughts. If it was a movie, I'd be able to direct it quite well. End ramble.

…

**Painted Canvas**

_Prologue_

…

Silver. Metallic. Blood. Pain. She would not beg for mercy. Never.

"_Do it._"

The words came as a taunting whisper between deep, forced breaths. Her chin was lifted, lips pursed, as her eyes traveled up from the tip of the wand jabbed in her neck to the grey eyes beyond.

"Go on," she repeated after a moment of silence, as a trickle of dark blood escaped the corners of her mouth. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to talk. Every breath came hand in hand with a sharp pain in her chest. She had a faint suspicion that one of her lungs was punctured, probably due to the work of one of her broken ribs. Another fit of coughs produced more blood. "Do it."

She was again met with the silence of two grey eyes.

It was cold. Like ice. The heavy metal chains held her feet to the stone floor of the dungeon. Her hands were likewise cuffed above her head, to either side of her head. It was cold. It was metal. Bruises lined her wrists and ankles - the metal cuffs had shown no mercy. Scratches and purple-black bruises lined her arms where she had been whipped. After undergoing no less than five beatings, her robes were now mere filthy rags. Her hair was damp, and her curls were in wild disarray around her dirty, scraped face. She had no more strength left in her. If the chains had not been there to secure her wrists, she would have long fallen. It hurt to move, and she could barely muster enough strength to keep her head up, but she would not avoid his gaze. She was too proud.

"Just two words, Malfoy," she said, wincing with pain between deep, heaving breaths. Every word was a knife in her chest. Her two brown eyes held fast to his; her lips twitched into a mocking grin. "Don't tell me they never taught you the Killing Curse in Big Bad Death Eater School. Here, I'll say it for you – _Avada_-"

The end of the wand poked harder into the flesh of her neck, threatening to break skin. She hacked up more blood. She would not relinquish her glare.

"Ah, Granger, just as I remembered you." He was amused; she heard it in his voice.

Blood continued to trickle down. Warm blood met cold stone. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you want?" she spat, and then added as an afterthought, "I won't tell you a thing."

"Granger, Granger," the grey-eyed wizard said, his voice laced with annoyance, "If I thought you'd tell me anything, I would have asked."

With that, Draco Malfoy retracted his wand with ease, wiped it with a handkerchief, and pocketed it. The cell was dimly lit, the only source of light emitted by a burning candle situated on a wooden table beyond the iron bars. His imposing figure blocked the candle's path of light, and in the darkness, he appeared frighteningly sinister. She scrutinized him carefully. This was not the Draco Malfoy she had known in school - not just the arrogant, pompous rich boy whom they all hated. He was a full-fledged Death Eater.

"What are you going to do with me?" she said, feigning indifference, but aware of all the crude forms of torture used by the dark side and wondering which ones she would be subject to. She would keep her mouth shut. If she were to divulge the secrets - all her knowledge - then everyone would be in peril. She must not say a thing. Their cause was too important for a girl like her to betray. What if they used a truth potion on her? What if they were able to pry information out of her? And for this, she prayed that death would overtake her.

He leaned in towards her, past the damp curls that framed her weary face, until his lips brushed against her ears. "I need a pretty girl to warm my bed."

His hand moved possessively up her thigh. She turned her face away and sunk into the stone wall behind her, trying desperately to escape his touch. It was sensual. It was animalistic. It burned. It was too wrong.

"You're married, Malfoy. What would Pansy think if she saw you like this?" She tried unsuccessfully to fend him off.

"She was bred to understand. After all, every Death Eater needs his own mudblood pet," he whispered into her ear, so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. It was warm. His touch was warm. His flesh was warm. She wanted to edge closer. It was so cold, so cold. She could not.

"You would do well to remember that I'm a dirty muggleborn - you'd better get those hands away from me or else you'll catch something deadly," she said in a mocking tone. "Besides, even a _Malfoy_ wouldn't stoop so low as to take advantage of a poor girl chained helplessly to the walls, would he?"

There was no answer as he continued his ministrations.

"Give me my wand, unchain me, and we'll duel – witch to wizard," she offered, although she wasn't sure how much dueling she could do in her current state. She didn't even know if her legs would support her.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," he said with a frown as he backed away.

"Why not? Surely you aren't frightened of a weak, wandless muggleborn, are you? _Are you?_"

He elicited a sigh, hands back in the pockets of his black robes. "My, my, Granger. You _will_ be a pleasure to break."

"I'd rather die!" She stared daggers at him. Then more coughing. And blood.

"I'm afraid I've got other plans for you."

"Yes, well, I haven't got time to wait around for your other plans, Harry and Ron will find me," They _had_ to. And fast, too. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to hold up. "And when they do, they'll jinx-"

"They won't find you, nor do they have any reason to send out a search party," he cut her off in an amused voice, as if he knew something she didn't.

"Perhaps you don't understand what friendship is, but _I_ do, and I _know_ they'll search for me."

"Not if you're dead."

"So you _are_ going to kill me?" she retorted impatiently. "Then get on with it, I haven't got all day and - " she abruptly shut up when her brain finally processed his last words, and she narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

He reached his hands into the folds of his robe and pulled out a large packet of papers. They looked fairly new. Glancing at them, she saw such reputed titles as _The Daily Prophet_, and _Witch Weekly_.

He held the papers out in front of him, feigning genuine interest. "Let's read all the headlines, shall we? Hermione Granger's Body Found in River...Friends Mourn Over Granger's death...Golden Trio Down to Two...Death of Famous Auror Greatly Mourned...would you like me to read some more?"

She stood in silence, taking all his words in. And then –

"Liar. Let me see those." She wrestled against the metal cuffs that held her wrists to the wall. More hacking. More blood.

"Your body was cremated three days ago and your ashes dispersed over the sea. How tragic," he said sarcastically.

She looked up towards him, and for the first time, there was a glimpse of fear behind her brown eyes. She had not shown fear when the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts at the end of their sixth year. She had not shown fear as they fought battle after battle against Voldemort's army. She had not shown fear when Dumbledore asked her to lead an almost impossible mission to rescue those imprisoned Aurors. She had not shown fear when their forces were ambushed and she was taken prisoner. She had not shown fear in the past few days when she had been whipped and starved. She had no wand, she had no chance of escape, but she had held on to one last hope. And now, even that hope was gone. She began a renewed struggle to free herself from the chains, but the only fruits of her effort were sore and bloody wrists and ankles where the metal cuffs cut deep into her flesh.

"You bastard!"

He grabbed her chin as her eyes stared defiantly into his. "You really are quite pretty when you're angry. Quite pretty for mudblood filth."

She shook off his hand as if it was searing her skin. "What game are you playing here, Malfoy? Why keep me alive?"

"Why kill you?"

"Why not?"

"Because it gives me satisfaction to have you here with me while Potter and Weasley wallow in sorrow over your death," he drawled.

She let out a feeble chuckle. "So this is it? You're going to keep me here forever?"

He turned away from her. "You killed my father."

"So kill _me_," she reasoned.

"Disgusting mudblood filth," he muttered repulsively.

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed. Maybe she was finally getting through. "You don't want me. I'm dirty, repulsive, ugly, and a _mudblood_ to boot. You don't want me alive on this earth."

"I thought exactly as you are thinking now. Why would I want to touch a mudblood and taint myself?"

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"But then, I started thinking again…" He turned back around, this time with a deadly smirk on his face. "And I thought, what would hurt you more than death?"

"_Nothing_, nothing would hurt me more, so just _Avada_ me and get this done and over with." She would not beg for mercy. She begged for death. But was death mercy?

"That's where you're wrong," he said as he inched closer to her, and she tried desperately to sink into the wall.

"You're going to fall in love with me," he said, his lips lingering at her neck.

"I would never!" She exclaimed, and let out a sudden gasp as he bit into her shoulder.

"Let me tell you a story," he said, and she could sense a wicked smile at his lips. His breath lingered on her skin. His voice was intoxicating. "There was once a little girl who hated a boy. This boy hated her too, for she murdered his father. But he thought up an ingenious plan for revenge. He would make her fall in love with him."

"He would do well to know that he will never succeed," she said absently as she felt his lips slowly travel south of her collarbone.

"He always succeeds. And do you know what happened, Granger? She _did_ fall in love with him," he continued in a cold, hard tone, "oh _so_ in love. Many years passed in absolute happiness until one day, she woke up, realized what she had done, and _hated_ herself."

"And you think I'm going to be that little girl?" she said in disbelief, not sure whether or not he was joking. "I'd rather rot in hell."

"You see Granger, you don't have a choice."

"I can throw off the Imperious Curse quite well, so -"

He dismissed her thought with a casual wave of his hand. "Who said anything about the Imperious?"

"Well, there's really no other way you can - "

"I understand you were quite…infatuated…with Professor Lockhart," he interrupted, "so I suspect you are well acquainted with the importance of memory charms."

It took a moment to register what he said, but when that moment passed, she stared at him in pure horror. His true intentions were clear.

"You _wouldn't_," she breathed.

His visage hardened; he grabbed her chin and tilted it up forcefully so he could study her face. "Tell me, Granger, say, ten years from now, when I decide to reveal this you, and you realize you have been madly in love with your greatest enemy, namely _me_, what would you do? How much would you hate yourself? Would you rather death?"

She was immersed in shock and disbelief, the true horror of the situation finally worming its way into her mind. She was incapable of speech.

"I thought so."

"You can't do it," she said quietly, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. "You're _sick_, you're disgusting, you're a raving mad lunatic!"

"Call me whatever you like," he said carelessly, "but realize that _I_ control your every move. How do you like the name Millicent?"

"It's repulsive," she retorted without a thought.

"Good, that shall be your name."

This elicited a sharp look from her.

"You see, Granger, you will be like a blank canvas, and _I_ choose the paints, _I_ pick the colors."

A pause, and then -

"_You will be my greatest masterpiece._"

She shook her head slowly, her mouth open to say something, but unable for a moment to form words. He lifted his wand, and right as she was about to begin another string of insults -

"_Obliviate!_"

…

12.21.04

The "mudblood pet" part is borrowed from Thea's fic Perished Dreams, another really awesome fic. Hermione's name won't be Millicent; Draco was just joking, at least according to me. And yes, I know Auror training takes forever, but I decided that they made Hermione, Ron, Harry, and some other people Aurors just because the world was under attack and they needed more people's help. In emergency situations, any help, no matter how trivial, is appreciated.

This was the prologue; the first chapter begins seven years later. Leave comments. I adore them. Thanks.


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